White
by MetallicTaste
Summary: Sometimes the spring lifts the snow off a world different from the world that the snow fell on. This winter, spring seems so far away...
1. Chapter 1

**Hello! This chapter was edited since it was first posted. I'd like to thank Quarter Ava for her/his feedback. Feedback is very important to me in my development as a writer, so I'm very thankful for that :). **

**Also, I'd like to give a big shout out and thank you to my beta, Kelaiah, whose help is very important to me. You rock, Kel!**

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_"Un segundo mas de vida, yo a dios le pido." -Juanes_

* * *

"Yes, Harry," wheezed a gray-furred mouse, "we do have the requested volumes in our archives. I remember them well." He shivered lightly in his scarlet robe; the gatehouse air had gotten colder.

The burly hare sitting across from the hunched-over mouse noticed the beast's discomfort, and, gesturing to the dying fire in the fireplace, offered, "Brotha' James, are you quite alright? I could get you more firewood if you'd please, wot!"

Brother James smiled at the hare's kind offer, but shivered more violently as another draft of cold air washed over him from behind. The mouse turned in the direction of the draft and instantly realized the cause of it.

"No wonder it's so blasted cold, you left the door open when you came in, you great lump!" James hissed with a sudden intensity that it made Harry jolt upright and almost topple out of his chair.

"Well, what are you waiting for? Close it! Before my joints turn to ice!" the incensed mouse shouted at the flabbergasted hare, who finally jumped to his feet and rushed to the door, shutting it.

As the flustered hare returned to his seat across the table from where the elderly mouse sat, Brother James continued as if nothing had just happened. "Now, you were asking for a time horizon, as I recall. The three volumes of Ailments and Remedies that the Lord of Salamandastron requested should take around a fortnight for me to replicate, should I work from dawn to dusk every day. With this being an abbey, I hope you can understand why books of healing are too precious for us to simply give away indefinitely."

Harry nodded stiffly, replying, "Yessah. Thank ya' very much. The Lord of Salamandastron wished t'know what he could do in exchange for this favor?"

"We expect no reward at this abbey for work done for the good of others." After a pensive moment, however, the old mouse continued, "However, should the Lord of Salamandastron insist to repay this kindness, I'll direct you to speak with the Abbess, who would full well know better than I would anything this abbey may need."

"Very well, sah."

After a few moments' silence, Brother James dismissed the hare, "If that is all of the business you have with me, you and your company of..." He trailed off and glanced expectantly at the other creature.

"Hares, sah."

The mouse became annoyed again. "I know very well that you are all hares-"

"Well, technically, one of my company is a mouse-"

"Don't interrupt me, young'n! I was asking how many were in your company!"

"Oh! Um, eight, sah. Nine if ye include myself."

The old mouse's eyes reflected surprise that Salamandastron would dispatch that many of its fighters for a simple errand such as this. "Yes, you all may speak with Sister Claudia and she will help get you all situated in the dormitories. Hopefully she'll get you all settled before dinner; it'd be quite unseemly for guests to arrive to a meal late. And I may as well gather all the volumes that are to be replicated and begin immediately."

The mouse and hare rose simultaneously and walked to the door of the gatehouse, right into bitter cold, gusty outside. Before they parted ways, the mouse clapped the young hare on the back with a hardiness that Harry wouldn't have expected from such a frail-looking creature.

"Don't forget the firewood you promised me, son."

* * *

As Brother James made his way back through the light snow to the gatehouse, volumes under one silver-furred arm, the old mouse shielded his eyes from the sun which began to set above the gatehouse; he'd spent longer than he planned finding these volumes because of the library's severe state of disorganization. He resolved to have a stern talk soon with that bumbling young buffoon, Brother Matthew. James expected better from the one Redwaller he chose to replace himself as the Abbey's new librarian!

As the gray-furred mouse approached the gatehouse, he faintly heard a voice calling from outside the walls. He muttered something very un-Redwall-like under his breath, mentally blaming Matthew for his not being in the gatehouse to attend his responsibility, and quickened his pace to the gatehouse.

As he entered, warmth greeted him; a quick glance to the fireplace affirmed that Harry had not forgotten his promise. Placing down his retrieved volumes, Brother James rushed to the window overhead the gate and opened it.

A hoarse, strained voice called up to the old mouse, "Please! Help! Let us in, he needs help!"

Brother James looked down on the now snow-laden path that led to the Abbey's main gate and was greeted by the sight of a shirtless, pleading stoat with a pure white winter coat, as well as a cart in tow. And in this cart was an unconscious squirrel sporting bloodstained bandages over his abdomen and one of his arms. Brother James did a double take at the sight.

"Please!" the stoat called up to him desperately. "Papa's hurt. You have to help him!"

After the shock of the situation in front of him wore off, the recognition of who was in the cart dawned on Brother James. He furiously accused, "What'd you do, what did you do to Lucas, you vermin!"

The stoat gasped, and tried to stutter out a response.

"Speak, ye' spineless cowardly scum, or I'll end ye'!" threatened the old mouse.

"I didn't do anything!" the stoat whimpered out, tears welling up in his large dark eyes. "He got hurt fighting vermin, you have to help him!"

The gatekeeper, caught between suspicion of the vermin at his gate and concern for his old friend, asked, "Are ye' armed?"

Hesitating only for a second, the stoat drew the dagger stashed in the belt around his black trousers and, turning around, hurled it as far as he could; it wasn't very far, but he turned around to the gatekeeper and screamed, "Please, you have to help us!"

This satisfied Brother James, who, springing up to the wheel controlling the raising and lowering of the gate, turned it with a strength that his age belied. The stoat frantically took the arms of the cart and tugged it through the snow, making it under the gate. After lowering the gate back down, the old mouse ran out of the gatehouse as briskly as he could and took one arm of the cart. "Follow my lead, stoat, we need to take him to the infirmary."

The stoat sat on a chair, shoulders sagging, mutely watching as a healer peeled back the injured squirrel's bandages, observing the injuries. The healer, surprised at how rudimentary the bandages seemed, looked at the shirtless stoat and immediately understood that the bandages were the torn remains of his tunic. The squirrel, Lucas, moaned quietly, but was still unconscious. The healer, a hedgehogmaid, turned to the stoat and asked, "What happened to him?"

The white-furred creature swallowed, and quietly responded, "We were taking our fish to the market, but two... vermin... ambushed us. They wanted our valuables, but Papa wouldn't have it. They took out their weapons, and he took out his sword. And I..." The stoat's throat constricted, but he choked out, "I couldn't move. I was so scared." He took another look at his injured father before dropping his face into his paws, sobbing, "I'm such a coward!"

The healer, surprise written on her face, glanced at Brother James, and back to the stoat. "Calm down," she said steadily to him. "I need to know your name."

Without looking up, the stoat replied, "Micah."

"Micah," the healer gently said, placing a soothing paw on his shoulder. "I need you to tell me how long ago this happened."

"Y-yesterday, at about noon."

They all froze as they heard another, louder, moan come from Lucas. An eye opened slowly, and the squirrel tried to croak out something.

"Don't try to talk, Lucas," the healer hurriedly said, bringing a cup of water to the squirrel's mouth so he could drink. After Lucas had clasped the cup and drank it, he had several spluttering coughs, and winced visibly from the pain. The healer put a paw on the squirrel's forehead, paused, and began to re-examine the squirrel's wounds, cleaning them, applying herbs, and bandaging them.

Mustering his will, Lucas began to speak, holding out a paw. "James, it's good to see you."

The elderly mouse smiled, going to the squirrel's side. "Likewise, though I'm thinkin' of knocking you silly for forgetting to bring back your overdue books." James then chuckled. "Although the library has technically passed into Brother Matthew's responsibility. I tend to the gatehouse nowadays."

With a faint smile, Lucas faintly chuckled, but, wincing, quietly said, "I'm tired, so listen close, James. That creature next to you is my boy. I found him when he was a babe, and I've loved him as a son ever since. He's a good creature. Please... make this a good home for him."

What his father just said terrified Micah, who cried, "Don't talk like that, Papa, you said that they would be able to heal you here!"

The squirrel smiled, "Of course they will. I'm feeling better already. James, they have to be serving supper soon, is that right? Please take Micah down to the great hall, and make sure he makes some friends."

The hogmaid jumped on this, urging them out so that she could take care of her patient without him moving or talking. After the door to the infirmary closed, the hogmaid turned to the squirrel and, swallowing, declared, "Lucas, your wounds, they're-"

The squirrel interrupted her in a pained and faint voice, "-infected, I know."


	2. Chapter 2

**This chapter was edited since it was first posted.**

**I'd like to give a huge thank you to Blackish for his great criticism (his criticism was the basis for the edits I made). I really appreciate that kind of help for me to grow as a writer and make better fics!**

**And a shout out to my beta, Kelaiah. You rock!**

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"Oh yeah, ye' lily-livered cottontail?" shouted a black-furred mouse maid over the din of the Great Hall supper. The hares in her immediate vicinity quieted to observe the mouse and hare who were staring each other down from across the table. "I could kill as many vermin as you blindfolded! And with no weapon!" She sneered at the taller and bigger creature, her voice feminine but heated. Some of the surrounding hares gave quieted 'Ooohs' and looked to the hare across from the belligerent mouse for his response.

The large hare laughed insolently at her, retaliating, "Being lily-livered is a bloomin' funny accusation from a maid named Lily!"

The mouse hissed at the unwanted nickname, "It's Lilith! 'n at least me mum didn't name me Hare-y."

Harry, the hare staring her down, bristled; she'd mentioned his mum and made fun of his name!

"If you weren't a maid, I'd knock you out for that!" the big hare warned her, but Lilith slammed a paw down on the table.

"Ye' don't care I'm a maid, ye'r just scared about how I'll whip your sorry tail in a fair-"

"Silence, all of ye'!" Brother James shouted from behind Harry. Harry, already acquainted with the old mouse's temper, bolted upright and immediately replied with a hurried _Yessah_. Lilith quieted as well, but her pugnacious mood was anything but quenched. Turning her eyes the the older mouse who interrupted her, she noticed who was behind him: a stoat! All of the other hares were still and quiet in surprise of the situation, but Lilith didn't skip a beat, starting to stand and immediately reaching for the hilt of her sword.

"Don't you dare!" Brother James rebuked with a roar, pointing at Lilith's swordpaw. "This creature is a guest, and you're to make him feel welcome. And if ye' ever draw that thing within the walls of this abbey, I'll confiscate it!"

Under the surprising intensity of Brother James' warning, the mousemaid stood down, but glared at the shirtless stoat, who swallowed visibly, noticably frightened by the fiery warrior.

As Brother James motioned for Micah to continue walking with him past the occupied tables, Micah glanced furtively in each direction and whispered something to the old mouse.

"What'cha say, son? These ears ain't what they used to be, speak up!" Brother James responded impatiently.

The stoat, looking uneasy, leaned in and whispered again.

"Fine, I'll get ye' a shirt, just sit down and start eating."

Since the mouse and stoat walked away, the hares returned to their regular demeanor, gluttonously dispatching their food and making raucous small talk. But Lilith, still fuming silently from the old mouse's rebuke, began to stuff blueberry scones down her mouth and wash them down generously with Elderberry wine.

The table James sat Micah at was sparely occupied, but he was still overwhelmed; he had never seen so many creatures in one place, never mind been in the midst of such a crowd. And now, with the only beast he was familiar with having left, he was alone, and unsure of what to do. The unusual sight of the shirtless, uncertain stoat caught the attention of a nearby beast.

"You c'n go ahead and eat, you know," said a voice across the table from the stoat, who jumped as if the voice were a scream. The stoat, wide-eyed, stared mutely at the creature across from him: an otter, who, like the stoat himself, was of teenage seasons. Visibly confused by the stoat's behavior, the otter continued, "You know, you take your plate, and you put a serving of the food from some of the bigger plates-"

"I know how meals work," the stoat hissed indignantly as he noticed the unintentional but condescending tone that'd creeped into the otter's voice, his ears redding imperceptibly. The otter recoiled visibly at the stoat's response and sudden change of demeanor, making Micah immediately regret how he reacted.

"I'm sorry, that was rude of me," the stoat muttered, looking down and rubbing an arm. It had been a while since he'd seen another creature besides his father, and anxiety from this environment gripped him. The otter across from him noticed his discomfort and saw it a rather pitiful sight: the shirtless, anxious stoat was clearly not doing too well. He grabbed the stoat's plate, and quickly filled it up with chopped nuts, some candied chestnuts, a pasty with a shiny golden crust, a vegetable flan, a slice of nutbread, some yellow sage cheese studded with dandelion, acorn and celery, along with some sugared plums, honeyed pears, snowcream pudding and damsons, before setting it back down before him, followed by a beaker of strawberry cordial.

"Only a bit rude, but it's alright, matey, don'tcha worry," the otter told Micah with a smile.

The stoat, nonplussed at the amount and variety of food heaped before him, gave a quick and subdued thank you before slowly starting to eat, turning his gaze quickly away from the otter. The otter looked at the Micah expectantly, waiting for the stoat to begin some sort of conversation, or at least introduce himself, but the stoat clearly wasn't interested in socializing. With a shrug, the otter returned to his own meal of shrimp 'n' hotroot soup, dipping some new bread with a shiny golden crust into it and biting in to it with relish.

At the hares' table, as the plates set before the emissaries from Salamandastron emptied, Harry cleared his throat conspicuously, drawing the looks of his fellow Long Patrollers and the mouse sitting across from him.

"Soldiahs," he began as quietly as he could manage, throwing a glance in each direction to make sure that none of the abbey residents were listening; they weren't. "Don't forget why we're here. And Lilith," the hare paused to make eye contact with the mouse, "remember not to cause ripples. We don't want to scare the abbeybeasts before we know what the situation is."

Lilith's indignant response was uncomfortably loud.

"I can be subtle!"

Under the stern glare Harry shot her, she grumbled, "...Sarge." Harry and Lilith's heated bickering was a part of their strong friendship, but in matters pertaining to their mission, Harry needed her to understand that she had to be obedient and respectful like all beasts of the long patrol were expected to be.

Harry almost brought a paw to his forehead in exasperation as he noticed in the periphery of his vision that the mousemaid's volume had attracted the curious looks of a few of the abbeybeasts at the surrounding tables. The black-furred mouse noticed this as well, and, embarrassed, she conceded, "As ye' say, sarge."

Harry made a mental note to himself to keep Lilith on some sort of leash; he loved what her fiery spirit brought to the morale of his team, but he worried that he might regret bringing her on this reconnaissance mission. He'd selected the rest of his team because of their experience and skills, but truthfully, he'd only brought her along because she had begged him to let her be a part of the mission when he told her why he was leaving Salamandastron.

Lilith sat, nursing her wounded pride. She resolved to herself to prove to the rest of them that she could be subtle and collect information, shooting a glare at the stoat at the other table.

Micah's eyes seemed glazed over as he bit into the vittles that had been set before him. Had he not been completely entranced by these rich and diversified delicacies, he might have appreciated the irony of having an almost religious experience within the walls of the abbey because of its food. It wasn't that his adoptive father hadn't fed him well, only that what he and the squirrel ate was what they could forage, hunt, or trade for at the market of a nearby village: all simple things.

A strong paw tapped his shoulder, and a swivel of the head confirmed that it was Brother James with a brown tunic for the stoat.

"Here ye' go, son," Brother James said as he handed Micah the tunic. Micah accepted it with a quiet '_thank you_', and clumsily put it on.

"You put it on the wrong way, matey!" laughed the otter sitting across from him; indeed, the stoat noticed it didn't fit on quite right, and was a bit tight around the chest and loose around the back. After pausing for a second in his own embarrassment, the stoat started to laugh along with the amiable otter who seemed to have an infectious good humor. It was enough to keep the stoat smiling after he corrected the tunic.

Brother James gently smiled as well, but his manner turned serious again as he sat next to Micah.

"Micah, your... father... says that ye'r a good beast, so I believe him. But you need to tell us: who are you?"


	3. Chapter 3

**Hello! I've edited the first and second chapters since I've posted them with the help of reviewers. So just letting that be known if anybeast wanted to go back and see the difference. Thanks for the reviews and support!**

**I'd also like to say a huge thank you to my beta, Kelaiah, whose help I am particularly grateful for. You rock, Kel!**

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_"Hello darkness, my old friend. I've come to talk with you again." -Simon & Garfunkel_

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"So then-" the haremaid lost her composure and snickered intensely. "Stop it! You all're messing me up, wot!"

At her insistence, the hares surrounding her gave her some more room as she recomposed herself and cleared her throat.

"Ahem- anyway, so then she hears the old sergeant call out to her as she tries to sneak away, and her heart flippin' stops! She turns around, afraid for her bloomin' life!

"But the sarge just claps her on the shoulder, exclaiming, 'I guess that's _one_ way to get answers out of the blighter!'"

The haremaid grinned wickedly as her fellow Long Patrollers erupted in raucous laughter. Even Harry couldn't help but smile as he reprimanded her.

"Rosemary! You can't tell your jokes around here; y'might melt the modest ears right off some poor abbeybeast!"

"Sorry, sah!" Rosemary giggled, obviously not apologetic in the least. "Won't happen again!"

As Harry lifted his accusing gaze from the giggling haremaid, he suddenly realized that the seat in front of him was empty; Lilith had slipped away from right in front of him as Rosemary told that crass joke! The burly hare knew there was no particular reason he could give for why the mousemaid shouldn't be free to move about, but he was still just a bit uncomfortable with her being outside of his observation.

The other hares pestered Rosemary into telling another joke, and she agreed - only that it was a joke that she insisted was "squeaky clean" when Harry shot her a warning glance.

Lilith, on the other paw, had found herself another seat at a different table - one right behind the stoat. Sitting back-to-back with the vermin, the mousemaid listened intently to the conversation he was having with the Redwallers.

"So, you just grew up in northern Mossflower all alone?" the otter asked Micah incredulously .

"I wasn't alone," the stoat replied. "I always had Papa."

"But still, you never had any brothers or sisters, or friends?" the otter prodded, a tinge of pity creeping into his voice.

"Well, we've visited the nearby village a few times. When we're there I either talk or play with some of the youngbeasts, but I never really had a friend," Micah admitted, oblivious to the surprised pity written on the faces of Brother James and the otter. "But I never needed one," the stoat continued, "Everything is perfect with just Papa and me."

"But what do you do for fun?" the otter asked in disbelief.

"Papa brings back all kinds of books from here," Micah answered, smiling fondly. "I've read some of them so many times I could recite them from memory."

Brother James nodded, noting, "I was the librarian until a season ago. I always let him check out more books than I was supposed to, and I always had to browbeat him to eventually get them back. I knew he liked to read, but I never guessed he was getting those books for more than just himself."

Micah's smile faded. "You mean he never mentioned me to you?"

Brother James shook his head.

"Not even once?"

"Sorry, son. I'm sure he was just trying to protect you, is all." The old mouse's heart ached a bit at the solemn look on the stoat's face. Truth be told, Brother James didn't know why Lucas had concealed Micah's existence like he did. James also couldn't help but be hurt by this fact too, for he couldn't conceive of any reason why his friend would conceal such an important part of his life from him.

The otter sensed the mood change, and tried to steer the other two away from it, asking, "What else do you like to do but read?"

After a pause, Micah answered, "I love fishing."

"Me too! What do you like about it?" the otter asked, grinning.

"Well, it's nice and quiet. And peaceful. It's easy to think about stuff... well, until something needs to be reeled in," noted the stoat pensively. As an afterthought, he added, "And if I catch something, it means I can eat it!"

Lilith bored of eavesdropping on the stoat; there wasn't anything to hear. As the two youngbeasts continued on about fishing, with the stoat being more interested in the fish and the otter in the water, the mouse decided it was a good time to head back to the hares. She might not have gotten any information strictly pertaining to increased vermin activity yet, but she would. She'd show Harry.

"What's your name?" Micah asked the otter suddenly. They'd been conversing for a while, and the stoat only just realized he didn't know the name of the beast he'd been conversing with.

"The name's Rugger," the otter supplied, stretching a strong-looking paw across the table towards the stoat.

After a brief hesitation, Micah accepted Rugger's paw, only to regret it once his own paw was nearly crushed. "OW!"

"Ooh, sorry, mate," Rugger apologized with an sympathetic grimace. He laughed, "Don't know my own strength sometimes!"

"You certainly don't," Micah muttered, shaking out his sore paw and tenderly rubbing it. He might have normally held a bit of a grudge at that, but with a look at the friendly otter's penitent face, the stoat couldn't help but laugh. "But it's alright, I suppose."

Brother James was happy to see that the two youngbeasts were getting along; he was quickly fulfilling Lucas' wish that his son feel welcome.

_Lucas!_

Suddenly feeling discontented, Brother James decided he would like to go back up to the infirmary and see how his friend was holding up. Noticing Micah hadn't touched his food since he started conversing with Rugger, the old mouse figured it wouldn't hurt to pull him away to see Lucas as well. Besides, it looked like everybeast else was finishing up their dinners too; it would save the young stoat the trouble of being asked to help with the dishes.

"Micah, would you like to check on your father?"

The stoat's good mood was dashed instantly as worry came rushing back to him. He nodded and stoop up, anxiety now apparent in his movements. Rugger stood up as well, asking, "Hey, um, would it be alright if I came with you?"

Micah was silent for a moment, but nodded his consent, and the three went off to the infirmary.

* * *

Micah stared up at the ceiling of the dark guestroom, unable to sleep despite the numbness in his limbs and fog in his head from exhaustion. The visit to the infirmary had left him with an even greater state of anxiety that manifested physically as a persistent ache in his stomach. He couldn't clear his head of the twisted sight of his papa unconscious, fevered, and weak; it was so different from the healthy squirrel he'd always known.

The healer's assurances that he could return the next morning to visit his father did little to quell the strangling premonition of doom that bore down on him. He felt so powerless. All he could do was just lie there and wait till morning, when he'd be allowed to be by his father's side again. If only he could just fall asleep so the morning would come sooner...

A snore startled the young stoat, but he quickly remembered that he was sharing the room with Rugger.

Earlier, just as they were being hustled back out of the infirmary, Brother James had suggested that they all better get to bed, and that Rugger share a guestroom with Micah. The otter happily agreed, and Brother James led the way to the nearest available room. The stoat had almost awkwardly mentioned that there was only one bed when he saw the room, but was glad that he didn't when Rugger introduced him to what was called a "truckle bed", which turned out to be slightly smaller bed on wheels neatly tucked away under the first bed. Had it been any other time, Micah might have been more impressed with the invention.

After telling the stoat to pick which bed he'd like to sleep in, Rugger had left to gather some extra blankets and a couple of nightshirts for them. Micah decided it would be better if he took the smaller bed, being obviously lighter than the muscular young otter. The stoat waited uncomfortably in the oppressively silent room for his new-found friend to come back, but pridefully concealed his relief when Rugger finally returned.

The otter had helped unfold some of the blankets onto the truckle bed before carelessly heaping the rest on his own bed, and then casually undressed himself without warning to slip on his nightshirt. Micah's blushed and looked away when Rugger did that - this otter was the least shy beast the stoat had ever met.

After bidding Micah a good night and blowing out the candles that illuminated the room, Rugger had tucked himself into his own bed and, enviably, was out like a light within a few minutes.

Now, the only sound to be heard in the room was Rugger's slow, deep breathing, and his occasional snore. Truthfully, Micah was very grateful for the otter's company. The truckle bed Micah laid in was by no means comfortable, but the presence of a friend made the room seem less alien, and more welcoming.

Eventually the stoat finally succumbed to sleep, but not before what felt like hours of rumination. Reliving the attack that had left his father grievously wounded in his memory, Micah felt seeds of seething hatred form in his psyche for the vermin: one for the two foxes, who had inflicted Papa's wounds... and one for himself, who in his cowardice had let it happen.


	4. Chapter 4

**A/N: Sorry for the delay! I'd like to say a huge thank-you to my beta, Kelaiah, whose help I don't think I could do without.**

**As always, reviews are more than welcome for an author focused on improvement such as me!**

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_"Like my father's come to pass, twenty years has gone so fast. Wake me up when September ends." -Green Day_

* * *

The midday sun had done nothing to melt the knee-deep snow that had accumulated on the grounds outside of the abbey, and consequently the earth was unyielding; Abbess Elize was grateful for the physical aptitude and work ethic of Foremole and his crew. The moles worked hard to have a rectangular hole of a beast's height and length deep within the snow-laden ground within half of an hour. She looked up from the gaping black mouth in the white ground just in time to see Skipper and his band hoisting a simple wooden create through the crowd; all the abbeybeasts respectfully made room for their path.

The Abbess cleared her throat as the otters laid down the casket within the hole before stepping back. It was now time for one of her least favorite responsibilities as Abbess. No matter how many times death visited the abbey, it never got any easier, no matter who it was who passed, no matter how long they had been at the abbey.

By a loose tradition, those who knew Lucas the most formed a semicircle facing the grave and abbess, while the rest of the abbey dwellers gathered behind. Some were standing on the abbey wall; it was also part of the tradition, to pay their respects to the departed. All eyes rested on the Abbess. The elderly mouse found it difficult to remember what she was to say while under both the oppressive silence that was interrupted only by sniffing in front of her, and under the gaze of her abbeybeasts. But she was not one to bow to pressure.

"We are here to remember Lucas, who left us peacefully last night. ...He chose a hermit's life, so many of us did not get to know this wonderful creature as well as I would have us, if I had another chance."

Elize paused, regarding the young stoat standing in their midst. His eyes were bloodshot.

"He leaves behind an adoptive son, but many of us here are his family as well. ...I myself knew Lucas when he was only a dibbun, every bit as lively and mischievous as the rest of them..."

The mouse continued, her voice weary but resolute. She executed the standard funereal rites with in iron constitution, but her words rang sincere in the ears of all those present.

"...and now Lucas has moved on to sunnier pastures, to quieter noontides... and more peaceful woodlands... though... he will always live on in the hearts of those who loved him."

A moment of silence, and the abbess called for those who knew the squirrel to deliver a eulogy. Brother James stepped forward, his usually grumpy face oddly softened in the winter daylight.

Micah watched and listened intently as the old mouse recounted his friendship with Lucas, and every honorable and noble trait of the squirrel. The words and stories soothed the young stoat, as if, only for a little while, his father lived in those words. But these words, too, came to pass, and James stepped back and approached Micah with a meaningful nod.

The old mouse had been loathe to pressure the young creature to say something, but Micah returned the nod; James had gotten him to understand the importance of it earlier.

The stoat stepped forward, hugging his cloak about him, snow crunching under his footpaws before he stood still, and took in all the gazes around him. And every planned phrase he had come up with, every word he wanted to say, turned to dust in his mouth. Nevertheless, the grieving creature summoned all of his will and began to speak.

"My-"

No words came after that.

Micah couldn't understand. He tried with all of his might, but it felt as if a string were drawn around his throat and pulled taut. Remembering the ease and eloquence with which he saw James and the Abbess speak, he furiously tried to choke out the words that sprang into his mind. There were so many things he wanted to say, so many things he wanted to share, so many, many things about his father...

It was useless though, and angry, helpless tears welled in his eyes as he failed to speak a word of the inspired eulogy that had come together, a eulogy embroidered in the most eloquent of prose he'd learned from his reading. But only unintelligible choking came out. Out of the corner of his eye, Micah became painfully aware that some of the abbey dwellers on the ramparts were averting their eyes. And of course they would; no doubt he made a pathetic sight.

Micah jolted as a warm, strong paw rested on his left shoulder, and he immediately understood what this meant: he'd failed. The stoat defiantly shrugged off the paw and redoubled his effort to speak, but once again, it was fruitless. The paw returned.

"It's alright, come on," Rugger told him in a hushed voice.

Micah finally relented, and nodded shamefully before the otter led him to the back of the semicircle of creatures. Rugger caught his gaze and tilted his head forward in a silent question. _Are you alright?_ The stoat, unattuned to the subtleties of body language, looked back blankly until he pieced together the meaning of the otter's behavior.

Micah understood how pitiful he looked, and felt humiliated under the stares of the abbeybeasts. The proud creature resisted, but quickly succumbed to the maelstrom of confusion, grief, fear, shame, and guilt within him and wrapped his arms around his only friend, sobbing into the shoulder of the otter's shirt.

Rugger was at a loss. He was unsure of what to say or do, if anything; his own parents' deaths by plague was when he was a babe, and he always had his tribe of otters as family. But Micah had just lost the one and only family, and friend, that he'd ever had. So the young otter just embraced the stoat back, remembering a wisdom that the Skipper had given to him seasons before. _If a beast comes to embrace you, let them be the first to let go._

The Abbess conspicuously continued, hoping to return the gazes of the congregation from the vulnerable and tormented creature.

* * *

"Clara, we have two visitors who need treatment direly."

The hogmaid's head snapped up from the crushing of herbs to meet the grim countenance of Brother James.

A pair of otters walked in, each supporting a skeletal mouse. Clara's analytical eyes instantly evaluated each aspect of their appearance: both mice were of a similar age, one male, one female. Their fur, both gray, was dirty and dull, and this, along with their obviously emaciated appearance, were clear indications of prolonged starvation.

"Brow, Rowana," the healer addressed the otters entering the infirmary with the mice, "place them on the beds, and gather spare clothes, fresh water, and tell the Friar to make nettle soup as quickly as possible, and bring it straight here."

The otters nodded, and, gently laying down the mice onto a pair of cots, hustled off to do the hogmaid's bidding.

Clara went to where the male mouse was laid, asking, "Are you injured? Either of you?"

The female mouse replied from her bed, "He can't speak. His... tongue's been cut out."

The hogmaid suppressed her initial surprise and disgust, as well as questions of what kind of past these creatures had fled from. She instead inspected the gaunt male, lifting his tattered excuse for clothing to check for any injuries that might need to take precedence. She found nothing dire until she removed the filthy cloth that had been tied around his footpaws with string, obviously for some sense of protection against the snow.

Clara hated herself for the immediate gasp that escaped her when she examined his feet; she'd just violated a basic principle of etiquette of bedside manner. She hastened to tell him what was wrong to avoid undue anxiety for him.

"You have two frostbitten claws, the smallest on each of your footpaws."

The male mouse looked up at her with widened eyes, obviously frightened.

"You'll be okay," the hogmaid said, trying her best to sound both reassuring and professional, "but I'll need to amputate them."

The male hesitated, staring at her with bleared eyesight before nodding slowly in tired acceptance. Clara then briefly interrogated the mousemaid and inspected her before deciding that the amputation was the most pressing priority.

As she gathered her instruments of surgery, she warned, "I will give you milk of poppy, but this will still be painful. Bite down on the wood that I give you, and don't move."

Brother James grimaced and turned away.


End file.
